Chloë didn't want to try the potty this morning, but she came in with me while I brushed my teeth. She went to her basket of bath toys, extracted her favorite blue cup, and said, "In." She's been saying "cup" for a long time now so I waited to see what she was talking about. She put it carefully on the floor, pulled out her favorite duck (her first one, with the blue bow), and placed it in the cup. "In," I agreed.
She was dissatisfied with the tight fit of the duck, and kept saying "Hep," so I suggested a smaller duck and pulled out Mad Professor Duck. She took it and placed it in the cup, where it fit perfectly. Then she removed it and put her sippy of juice in instead. "In?" she said, looking up at me.
"Yes, the juice...cup...your sippy...is in the cup," I said. I was relieved when she took the sippy out and put her toes in instead.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Labors of love
I'm sitting here watching my belly move under its own power. Dude, there's a baby in there, I think. And then: dude, it's going to have to come out! Dammit! The idea of labor was much more academic the first time around. Not that I'm living in dread of it this time; I know what it's like, but I also know I got through it and got over it, and I can also reasonably hope that this time will be better or at least shorter.
I'm also contemplating pain medication. I'm wondering if I got brainwashed last time into thinking that natural childbirth was the ideal for no good reason. After all, no one ever talks about natural appendectomies. I still think the idea of a needle inserted into my spine and left there is pretty darn squicky, but then Nancy used Nubain and said it was great, and that doesn't sound so bad. We'll see. I've still got a couple of months to think about it.
In the meantime, Chloë continues to be awesome and funny and ever more like a kid than a baby. Today we went to a quilt shop I'd just heard about, and on the way out she wanted to stomp in a puddle while looking at the moon. (And talking about it. "Moo'? Moo'? Moo'. Howah [water]. Howah! Pa [splash]! Moo'? Moo'? Dahr [star]? Moo'? Ka [car]! Howah. Howah. Moo'? Moo'? Moo'?") She had a fabulous time. Eventually I said it was time to go and tried to take her hand, and she screamed "Nooo!!" and then "Dada!!" (like he would have been on her side) and had a meltdown while I carried her to the car and strapped her in and removed her shoes and socks because they were sopping wet. At home she had to be instantly read a couple of books, including the Valentine's Day book she's owned since yesterday and read about six times already, before I could make dinner.* During dinner, she commented that her eggs were broken (she was eating an omelet). We started bedtime preparations a little early because she was so obviously tired--she was hiccuping, and while on the potty was trying to call out letters she knew from the box of bath foam letters, but the hiccups were interrupting her, and this was totally hilarious. Then she burst out laughing when I pulled her shirt off. Such a giggly happy funny girl. I hope the new baby won't seem too boring in comparison.
*This happens in the morning too. I stumble into her room bleary-eyed and am reading books before I know what I'm doing, because how can you resist a one-year-old in a panda sleeper holding out Goodnight Thumper and saying "Book. Book," and then calling "Dupah!" in imitation of the way you do it, but with an adorable high baby voice instead? And then your spouse laughs because the book doesn't actually have that in it, just a line about "Then Thumper heard something. He listened closely. His mother was calling for him. It was time to go home" and you put the "Thuuuuum-peeeer!" call in yourself, so it's entirely your doing that she now calls "Dupah!" every time you read that page and also at random times during the day?
I'm also contemplating pain medication. I'm wondering if I got brainwashed last time into thinking that natural childbirth was the ideal for no good reason. After all, no one ever talks about natural appendectomies. I still think the idea of a needle inserted into my spine and left there is pretty darn squicky, but then Nancy used Nubain and said it was great, and that doesn't sound so bad. We'll see. I've still got a couple of months to think about it.
In the meantime, Chloë continues to be awesome and funny and ever more like a kid than a baby. Today we went to a quilt shop I'd just heard about, and on the way out she wanted to stomp in a puddle while looking at the moon. (And talking about it. "Moo'? Moo'? Moo'. Howah [water]. Howah! Pa [splash]! Moo'? Moo'? Dahr [star]? Moo'? Ka [car]! Howah. Howah. Moo'? Moo'? Moo'?") She had a fabulous time. Eventually I said it was time to go and tried to take her hand, and she screamed "Nooo!!" and then "Dada!!" (like he would have been on her side) and had a meltdown while I carried her to the car and strapped her in and removed her shoes and socks because they were sopping wet. At home she had to be instantly read a couple of books, including the Valentine's Day book she's owned since yesterday and read about six times already, before I could make dinner.* During dinner, she commented that her eggs were broken (she was eating an omelet). We started bedtime preparations a little early because she was so obviously tired--she was hiccuping, and while on the potty was trying to call out letters she knew from the box of bath foam letters, but the hiccups were interrupting her, and this was totally hilarious. Then she burst out laughing when I pulled her shirt off. Such a giggly happy funny girl. I hope the new baby won't seem too boring in comparison.
*This happens in the morning too. I stumble into her room bleary-eyed and am reading books before I know what I'm doing, because how can you resist a one-year-old in a panda sleeper holding out Goodnight Thumper and saying "Book. Book," and then calling "Dupah!" in imitation of the way you do it, but with an adorable high baby voice instead? And then your spouse laughs because the book doesn't actually have that in it, just a line about "Then Thumper heard something. He listened closely. His mother was calling for him. It was time to go home" and you put the "Thuuuuum-peeeer!" call in yourself, so it's entirely your doing that she now calls "Dupah!" every time you read that page and also at random times during the day?
Friday, February 11, 2011
A farewell to bottles
Chloë has gone without bottles for a week now. We started out eliminating the morning bottle, then the naptime one. She objected to those, though not very much, but then she settled into it; and so last Friday we gave her a sippy cup instead of a bottle at bedtime. "Bowah!" she said, to inform us we'd gotten it wrong.
"It is milk," we said, and she drank it. And she's drunk it every night since.
I hadn't expected this final step to be so easy. But she's been happy to drink her milk--she says "mok" now, when it used to be "bowah" for bottle and before that, "babul"--and then proceed with the rest of the bedtime ritual. Maybe it helps that we now read during the milk-drinking, so she's not wholly consumed by the drinking process itself. Maybe she's just a big enough girl that this wasn't a big deal. Either way, I'm pleased, and impressed.
I'm not feeling all teary about her no longer being a baby, either. I mean, I get maudlin about that sometimes, but not because of the bottles or lack thereof. It's because she's so tall now, and helping to put her clothes on, and obeying (or disobeying) my instructions, and asking for yogurt or cheese or strawberries, and loving her boots and the moon, and reminding me to put on my socks.
(And still calling Daddy a monkey.)
So Chloë is off of bottles. Her dentist should be happy. We bought more sippies today, along with some bigger sleepers and socks and a set of three squirty ducks for the bath. I stopped at the clearance rack and looked at all the very small clothes until Eric cleared his throat and asked me to remind him what we had actually come to Babies R Us for. Maybe it helps that I'll soon have another baby, though I hope she won't be on bottles much for a while.
"It is milk," we said, and she drank it. And she's drunk it every night since.
I hadn't expected this final step to be so easy. But she's been happy to drink her milk--she says "mok" now, when it used to be "bowah" for bottle and before that, "babul"--and then proceed with the rest of the bedtime ritual. Maybe it helps that we now read during the milk-drinking, so she's not wholly consumed by the drinking process itself. Maybe she's just a big enough girl that this wasn't a big deal. Either way, I'm pleased, and impressed.
I'm not feeling all teary about her no longer being a baby, either. I mean, I get maudlin about that sometimes, but not because of the bottles or lack thereof. It's because she's so tall now, and helping to put her clothes on, and obeying (or disobeying) my instructions, and asking for yogurt or cheese or strawberries, and loving her boots and the moon, and reminding me to put on my socks.
(And still calling Daddy a monkey.)
So Chloë is off of bottles. Her dentist should be happy. We bought more sippies today, along with some bigger sleepers and socks and a set of three squirty ducks for the bath. I stopped at the clearance rack and looked at all the very small clothes until Eric cleared his throat and asked me to remind him what we had actually come to Babies R Us for. Maybe it helps that I'll soon have another baby, though I hope she won't be on bottles much for a while.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Monkey business
This morning Chloë and I read one of her books, "Wait for Me!", which involves a monkey, a parrot, and a snake generally making life miserable for an elephant, though not on purpose. On one of the pages Chloë pointed to the monkey and said, "Dada."
Now, to be fair, the picture in question did look a lot like a pale human with brown hair, which Eric is. I giggled, and said, "No, that's a monkey."
We finished the book, and upon closing the cover, Chloë pointed to the monkey on it and said again, "Dada." I laughed again and said, "Dada is not a monkey."
She grinned, and insisted, "Dada!"
"Dada is not a monkey."
"Munky," she insisted. "Dada!"
"Dada is not a monkey! You're the monkey!"
"Dada! Mukky!"
We were both giggling at this point, she repeating "Dada" and "munky," which she hasn't before (monkeys have always been identified as "eee eee"), and totally enjoying the joke. It got slightly less funny when she laughed so much she spit up her breakfast milk all over the both of us, but she's been looking at me, grinning, and saying, "Dada. Mukky," at intervals all day.
Now, to be fair, the picture in question did look a lot like a pale human with brown hair, which Eric is. I giggled, and said, "No, that's a monkey."
We finished the book, and upon closing the cover, Chloë pointed to the monkey on it and said again, "Dada." I laughed again and said, "Dada is not a monkey."
She grinned, and insisted, "Dada!"
"Dada is not a monkey."
"Munky," she insisted. "Dada!"
"Dada is not a monkey! You're the monkey!"
"Dada! Mukky!"
We were both giggling at this point, she repeating "Dada" and "munky," which she hasn't before (monkeys have always been identified as "eee eee"), and totally enjoying the joke. It got slightly less funny when she laughed so much she spit up her breakfast milk all over the both of us, but she's been looking at me, grinning, and saying, "Dada. Mukky," at intervals all day.
Friday, February 4, 2011
She also knows Pirate Duck says "Arr."
Chloë pointed to Eric's Gatorade container the other morning and said "Dada." I agreed, "That's Daddy's juice." Then she pointed to her sippy and said "Kao." I said, confused, "Craisins? Chocolate?" It took me a while to realize she was saying "Chloë," as in, "Chloë's juice." She hasn't done much spontaneous naming of herself, though she's been big on "baby" the past several days, and I'm sorry I fumbled it. But what a smart girl. Things belong to people.
She's been particularly interested in our glasses lately, and in looking at her Little People book we've pointed out the kids that have glasses and the kids that don't. We got to the point where she would point to a kid and I would say "Glasses!" or "No glasses!" without her having to say that was what she meant. In the past couple of days she's taken it up a notch: she points to my face and says "glasses" ("goggul"), and then to hers and says "No?" and I echo, "No glasses!" Then she runs and gets her sunglasses and puts them on, and I say, "Glasses!"
She's got a LeapFrog phonics thing on the fridge, a collection of letters and a little house where you put a letter in the slot and it sings, "B says buh! B says buh! Every letter makes a sound, B says buh!" or whatever sound applies. She enjoyed making it sing, and then just moving the magnets around. Now she actually knows a few letters. She brings a letter to me and says, "Bee?" and I turn it around, and it's the B. She also knows the R and the D and the M--she's especially pleased with the M, probably because I made such a fuss the first time she correctly identified it for me--and is tentatively okay with the E, L, and C (despite not being able to properly say either of the last two--it's "eh" and "gzhee"). She can point them out in her foam mat, too. We've been naming the foam letters in her bath*, but I really wasn't expecting her to pick up their individual names for a while. Heck, maybe in a year she'll be able to read and then we'll be off the hook for There's a Wocket in My Pocket.
*Of course, sometimes it goes like this:
Me: "Here's the E. E is for ear! And..."
Eric: "Extrapolate! And effervescent!"
Me: "...Here's a J. J is for juice."
Eric: "And jujube!"
Me: "And jail, where you can visit me after I have your dad killed."
Chloë: "Ki'!"
She's been particularly interested in our glasses lately, and in looking at her Little People book we've pointed out the kids that have glasses and the kids that don't. We got to the point where she would point to a kid and I would say "Glasses!" or "No glasses!" without her having to say that was what she meant. In the past couple of days she's taken it up a notch: she points to my face and says "glasses" ("goggul"), and then to hers and says "No?" and I echo, "No glasses!" Then she runs and gets her sunglasses and puts them on, and I say, "Glasses!"
She's got a LeapFrog phonics thing on the fridge, a collection of letters and a little house where you put a letter in the slot and it sings, "B says buh! B says buh! Every letter makes a sound, B says buh!" or whatever sound applies. She enjoyed making it sing, and then just moving the magnets around. Now she actually knows a few letters. She brings a letter to me and says, "Bee?" and I turn it around, and it's the B. She also knows the R and the D and the M--she's especially pleased with the M, probably because I made such a fuss the first time she correctly identified it for me--and is tentatively okay with the E, L, and C (despite not being able to properly say either of the last two--it's "eh" and "gzhee"). She can point them out in her foam mat, too. We've been naming the foam letters in her bath*, but I really wasn't expecting her to pick up their individual names for a while. Heck, maybe in a year she'll be able to read and then we'll be off the hook for There's a Wocket in My Pocket.
*Of course, sometimes it goes like this:
Me: "Here's the E. E is for ear! And..."
Eric: "Extrapolate! And effervescent!"
Me: "...Here's a J. J is for juice."
Eric: "And jujube!"
Me: "And jail, where you can visit me after I have your dad killed."
Chloë: "Ki'!"
On instincts
(Note: if I ever say "to make a long story short," I'm probably lying.)
Chloë's been waking up screaming around midnight pretty often lately. As previously mentioned, I'm finding it hard not to go to her and give her what she's asking for, even if I know she doesn't need it, because now she can ask, and the sad sound of a baby crying in the night is nothing compared to a toddler's piteous "Bottle! Bottle! Mama! Bottle!", especially to pregnancy-hormone-addled ears. She slept through the last few nights and I was so relieved, but last night I woke up around one to her screaming for juice.
We've been working on weaning her off bottles, and she now only has one for bedtime. Sometimes she doesn't even want milk when she gets up in the morning, preferring juice or not asking for anything at all. And she's not always asking for milk in the night, obviously. But we don't want to encourage her to have tooth-rotting liquids in the night, either. And we had discussed the night wakings previously and agreed that we should probably try delaying our response to see if she'll just go back to sleep.
So when I woke up, I checked the time. After a few minutes, I got up and waited in the hall for Eric (who was in the office on the other end of the hall, with Chloë's door between us) to get up to try to stop me. He did, saw me, and indicated "five minutes." So I went back to bed. Chloë continued to scream "Ju! Ju! Ju!" Then she started to slow down. The five minutes were up. There was silence. I started to cry because my baby was probably sitting in the dark with tears drenching her cheeks thinking that nobody cared enough to come to her, since I knew she could hear me get in and out of bed. Then she started up again: "Ju!" and "Bowah!" (her new word for bottle) and then, "Mama!"
I went. The five minutes were more than up and my maternal guilt was overflowing. Eric joined me as I picked Chloë up and stroked her back while she cried. Eric told her that juice was not for night time, but she could have water; did she want some? She wailed, "No," and went on crying, her little body shuddering with sobs. After a while I sang to her and Eric turned on her planetarium night light and brought her a doll and wiped her nose and cheeks with a Kleenex, and she calmed down. When she had stopped crying and had started pointing out stars, I put her back in her crib. She said, "No! Ju!" and started to cry again.
I retreated to bed for another few minutes, listening to the screaming continue to ramp up, starting to cry again myself. Finally I blew my nose, grabbed a second Kleenex, and went down to meet Eric in the computer room. "Would you put some water in her sippy and bring it to her?" I said, and he, probably afraid of the sleep-deprived weepy pregnant woman, agreed. I pressed the Kleenex in his hand--it was for wiping Chloë's face, though I'm not sure I actually communicated that to him--and went back to bed. In a few minutes I heard him go into Chloë's room, and the crying stop.
A few minutes after that Eric came in to check on me. "Thank you for waiting the five minutes before you did what came naturally," he said, which I hated him for, but he was right. I've been having a lot of mood swings this pregnancy, more than last time I think, and a lot of primal-mother-instinct behavior toward Chloë. I don't know if I'm having a worse time with the hormones this time around or if being pregnant while already a mother is just like this.
On the other hand, I'm a little conflicted on instinct in general. The first couple of months of Chloë's life I felt I had no mothering instincts whatever, but people all around me were telling me that I did and I had to trust them. (While other people were laughing at me for being stressed out when she was hungry, but never mind that.) Now, when I do have them, I'm being told to deny them. But I was pretty sure Chloë was truly thirsty last night, and I knew that she doesn't actually mean "no" half the time she says it and would probably have accepted the water if offered. That was why I eventually asked Eric to bring it to her, which I knew was against his own judgment. This is not to say that we should have given her a drink immediately, or even gone in to her at all; training is exactly about going against instinct; I know that. I'm just not sure when it's to be trusted and when it isn't. When I'm pregnant, it probably isn't, but not necessarily. So what's a hormone-riddled pregnant woman who's beginning not to be able to hold her toddler all the time to do?
Chloë's been waking up screaming around midnight pretty often lately. As previously mentioned, I'm finding it hard not to go to her and give her what she's asking for, even if I know she doesn't need it, because now she can ask, and the sad sound of a baby crying in the night is nothing compared to a toddler's piteous "Bottle! Bottle! Mama! Bottle!", especially to pregnancy-hormone-addled ears. She slept through the last few nights and I was so relieved, but last night I woke up around one to her screaming for juice.
We've been working on weaning her off bottles, and she now only has one for bedtime. Sometimes she doesn't even want milk when she gets up in the morning, preferring juice or not asking for anything at all. And she's not always asking for milk in the night, obviously. But we don't want to encourage her to have tooth-rotting liquids in the night, either. And we had discussed the night wakings previously and agreed that we should probably try delaying our response to see if she'll just go back to sleep.
So when I woke up, I checked the time. After a few minutes, I got up and waited in the hall for Eric (who was in the office on the other end of the hall, with Chloë's door between us) to get up to try to stop me. He did, saw me, and indicated "five minutes." So I went back to bed. Chloë continued to scream "Ju! Ju! Ju!" Then she started to slow down. The five minutes were up. There was silence. I started to cry because my baby was probably sitting in the dark with tears drenching her cheeks thinking that nobody cared enough to come to her, since I knew she could hear me get in and out of bed. Then she started up again: "Ju!" and "Bowah!" (her new word for bottle) and then, "Mama!"
I went. The five minutes were more than up and my maternal guilt was overflowing. Eric joined me as I picked Chloë up and stroked her back while she cried. Eric told her that juice was not for night time, but she could have water; did she want some? She wailed, "No," and went on crying, her little body shuddering with sobs. After a while I sang to her and Eric turned on her planetarium night light and brought her a doll and wiped her nose and cheeks with a Kleenex, and she calmed down. When she had stopped crying and had started pointing out stars, I put her back in her crib. She said, "No! Ju!" and started to cry again.
I retreated to bed for another few minutes, listening to the screaming continue to ramp up, starting to cry again myself. Finally I blew my nose, grabbed a second Kleenex, and went down to meet Eric in the computer room. "Would you put some water in her sippy and bring it to her?" I said, and he, probably afraid of the sleep-deprived weepy pregnant woman, agreed. I pressed the Kleenex in his hand--it was for wiping Chloë's face, though I'm not sure I actually communicated that to him--and went back to bed. In a few minutes I heard him go into Chloë's room, and the crying stop.
A few minutes after that Eric came in to check on me. "Thank you for waiting the five minutes before you did what came naturally," he said, which I hated him for, but he was right. I've been having a lot of mood swings this pregnancy, more than last time I think, and a lot of primal-mother-instinct behavior toward Chloë. I don't know if I'm having a worse time with the hormones this time around or if being pregnant while already a mother is just like this.
On the other hand, I'm a little conflicted on instinct in general. The first couple of months of Chloë's life I felt I had no mothering instincts whatever, but people all around me were telling me that I did and I had to trust them. (While other people were laughing at me for being stressed out when she was hungry, but never mind that.) Now, when I do have them, I'm being told to deny them. But I was pretty sure Chloë was truly thirsty last night, and I knew that she doesn't actually mean "no" half the time she says it and would probably have accepted the water if offered. That was why I eventually asked Eric to bring it to her, which I knew was against his own judgment. This is not to say that we should have given her a drink immediately, or even gone in to her at all; training is exactly about going against instinct; I know that. I'm just not sure when it's to be trusted and when it isn't. When I'm pregnant, it probably isn't, but not necessarily. So what's a hormone-riddled pregnant woman who's beginning not to be able to hold her toddler all the time to do?
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Words, words, everywhere
Some of this week's words:
-Window. There's a window on the landing, and she likes to look out it and point out the cars and the snow and the birds (whether any happen to be flying by at the time or not).
-In and out. At one of our baby showers we got a gigantic gift bag, and it's been folded up in the spare room closet with the other giftwrap items. Chloe spied it a few days ago and was curious, so we opened it up. It's about as tall as she is, and she wanted inside. So she got it. Then she wanted her ball of yarn and her foam numbers in with her. It's been a favorite fort/plaything ever since. "In," she says, pointing. You lift her in, and she sits happily and plays a bit. "Ow," she says, and you lift her out. (Sometimes she substitutes "up" and "dow".)
-Book. She's known what books (or stories) are for a long time, of course, but she's only recently started saying it clearly.
-Sparkly. Mom gave Chloë a couple of shirts with Hello Kitty sketched out in rhinestones. She adores these shirts. "Parky," she says, running her fingers over the bumps. We went shopping at Meijer the other day and had to stop in the girls' section for her to check out a shirt with "parky" sequined stars all over it.
-Broccoli. We made a potato/cheese/broccoli casserole last week and had leftovers over the weekend. "Brocky," she said, fishing out the green bits and poking them into her mouth.
And her first two-word sentence is, apparently, "More please." Did we mention she's a big girl?
-Window. There's a window on the landing, and she likes to look out it and point out the cars and the snow and the birds (whether any happen to be flying by at the time or not).
-In and out. At one of our baby showers we got a gigantic gift bag, and it's been folded up in the spare room closet with the other giftwrap items. Chloe spied it a few days ago and was curious, so we opened it up. It's about as tall as she is, and she wanted inside. So she got it. Then she wanted her ball of yarn and her foam numbers in with her. It's been a favorite fort/plaything ever since. "In," she says, pointing. You lift her in, and she sits happily and plays a bit. "Ow," she says, and you lift her out. (Sometimes she substitutes "up" and "dow".)
-Book. She's known what books (or stories) are for a long time, of course, but she's only recently started saying it clearly.
-Sparkly. Mom gave Chloë a couple of shirts with Hello Kitty sketched out in rhinestones. She adores these shirts. "Parky," she says, running her fingers over the bumps. We went shopping at Meijer the other day and had to stop in the girls' section for her to check out a shirt with "parky" sequined stars all over it.
-Broccoli. We made a potato/cheese/broccoli casserole last week and had leftovers over the weekend. "Brocky," she said, fishing out the green bits and poking them into her mouth.
And her first two-word sentence is, apparently, "More please." Did we mention she's a big girl?
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